Down
by RedGrayBall
Summary: When he found out, he didn't seek solace in his old ways. Instead, as his dream of their future crumbled, he began his withdrawal into himself.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note: It sometimes seems like everyone except me has written a version of this particular moment, and its aftermath. Let's give it a try.**_

* * *

_(185 seconds)_

Castle strode from the elevator towards the bullpen, two coffee cups in his hands. It was even busier than usual, owing to the high-profile nature of the case. They had all been shocked, but they were making progress. It wouldn't be long now.

_And then, when it's over, we'll talk_, he thought. _It's time._

A smile played around the edges of his lips, and he suppressed it with difficulty. It was inappropriate to be smiling given the atrocity they were investigating, but he also knew that his life was about to change radically. He could feel it.

It had been in her eyes, too, when he'd tried to talk to her earlier, but they'd been interrupted as usual. It had been on her face when she'd said that at times like these, you realised that there were things in your life you didn't want to put off anymore.

It was in her smile, too, that he saw more and more often.

_It's time_, he thought, feeling his chest fill with warmth, excitement, nervousness, and relief.

He'd been poring over witness statements for hours now, more eager than ever before to solve a case. He'd stepped out to clear his head and fetch some proper coffee for both of them.

_(159 seconds)_

He walked across to her desk, but she was nowhere to be seen. He set her cup of coffee down, glancing around, and saw Esposito.

A quick exchange established that they'd caught the suspect, and Beckett was interrogating him even now. Again the sense of anticipation rose up within him. He carried his own coffee with him as he crossed to the door that led to the observation room.

_(102 seconds)_

He watched her through the glass, full of admiration. This extraordinary woman, capable of such strength and fearlessness, but also able to be tender – as she seemed more and more willing to show him lately.

The young male suspect was evading her questions, but he was flustered, frightened, and clearly grasping at straws.

_(58 seconds)_

She stalked around him, changing position, never letting him finish a sentence. Relentless. Breaking down his defences. Wearing away his resistance, and his ability to lie.

_She's… magnificent_, Castle thought, allowing himself a grin.

_(20 seconds)_

She had the suspect cornered now, with no more excuses. The man was trying to claim that he'd had a lapse in memory, and the disdain was evident on Beckett's face.

She parked herself on the edge of the table, just a foot away from the young man, crowding him and staring right through him.

_Going in for the kill_, Castle thought.

_(10 seconds)_

"You don't get to use that excuse," she said darkly, pointing at the frightened man. He tried again to claim he couldn't remember, that he was suffering from traumatic amnesia, but she cut him off.

"The hell you don't remember!"

_Go get him, Kate._

_(6)_

"Do you want to know trauma?" she spat.

Castle gave the barest hint of a grin. He loved to watch her work. This was her in her element. A lioness.

_(4)_

"I was _shot in the chest_,–"

_(2)_

"–and I remember _every second of it._"

…

_(Zero)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note: As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, empathises for a living, is prone to adolescent behaviour, and is so hopelessly in love with Beckett, it seems to me that Castle would have been shocked at the revelation that she remembered everything about the day she was shot. Not just angry or upset, but shocked in the truest sense.**_

_**I think that a person like him would spiral into a dark place, filled and surrounded by doubt about himself. I think he'd take it very, very personally. The schedule associated with the show's dramatic arc for season 4 made it necessary to truncate and tame that aspect of what happened, but I think that, realistically, he'd have been more devastated, instead of driven to petty revenge-seeking.**_

_**This story is called Down because "**_**47 seconds"_ dealt with the idea of mapping, precisely, the final moments of some innocent people's lives, and the realisation that everything can change in an instant: that countdown to something unexpected, and terrible. Even the incidental music used at the moment of Beckett's outburst to the witness has the quality of a ticking clock; you can hear it clearly as Castle looks round._**

**_A few nights ago, when I first considered creating my own version of those events, I immediately saw the brief scene that became the first chapter: the interrogation of Lopez, but with Castle as the victim, and a clock that only the reader can hear, counting down towards Castle's own shattering. The timings of Beckett's various words to the suspect in the interview room are accurate to the episode._**

**_It then followed naturally that "Down" would also describe the trajectory of Castle's mood, ego, sense of certainty and trust, and evaporating hope._**

**_At the moment, this feels like it'll have the same sort of structure as Thaw, my most popular piece - still unfinished, but which I plan to return to when inspiration strikes - albeit shorter._**

**_Thank you for reading._**

**_-m_**

* * *

There was a long moment of perfect stillness, then everything seemed to tilt sideways.

Castle reached out for the narrow table along the side of the observation room to steady himself, then realised he had stopped breathing. His breath whistled as he inhaled sharply through his nose.

_I remember every second of it_.

She was still in there, with the suspect. She was standing at the far wall now, behind Lopez, letting him sweat. Her arms were folded and she was looking pensively at her own reflection in the other side of the window, several feet to Castle's right.

"All this time…" he murmured to himself. "You remembered?"

He felt off-balance. Images flashed through his mind.

_Vivid blue sky._

_Green grass._

_Headstones._

_A flash of sunlight on metal. Then–_

He took a ragged breath, pushing the memory away. Not again. Not after the hundreds of times he'd seen it in his nightmares.

She remembered. A part of him had always wondered. Always feared.

Then there were the three endless, drowning months when he'd waited each day to hear from her. Awake before dawn, and hanging onto consciousness well past midnight, just in case. The broken sleeping patterns. The lost weight. The growing worry he'd seen in his daughter's eyes.

The dark thoughts. The eventual numbness within.

She was talking again now, haranguing Lopez. He knew the tone well. It wouldn't be much longer – and then she'd leave the interview room. She'd see the coffee on her desk. Then she'd find him here.

_Go_, a commanding voice in the back of his mind said urgently. _Go now._

He dropped his own coffee cup into the small trash-can set near the observation window, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.

"Hey bro, where you off to?" Esposito called from the bullpen, and he looked around.

"I've… got someplace I need to be. I'll see you later," he said.

The other man nodded, returning his attention to the case file in his hand.

Castle walked quickly down the corridor towards the elevator and pressed the call button. After five seconds, he decided to take the stairs instead.

* * *

He stumbled through the crowds of pedestrians without seeing them. Blank faces in his peripheral vision, moving along within the trajectories of their own lives.

The day was bright and cold, everything crisp and hard-edged, drawn in high contrast. He felt like he'd fallen from somewhere else, and landed hard, finding himself in this unfamiliar place.

_She would have said something_, he thought. _She would have at least… just told me she was OK._

A man in a business suit hurried by, knocking into his shoulder. Castle didn't even glance at him.

_If she knew, she wouldn't have-_

But he knew her better than that. Her MO when she was emotionally threatened was to back away. To deflect, to retreat, and to hide.

He reached a crosswalk and went blindly onwards into the street, not even looking towards the WALK sign. His foot snagged on the edge of the sidewalk on the opposite side, but he kept going, passing a corner coffee shop.

_It's not like she runs from relationships_.

He'd seen her in several of them. He'd even seen her openly showing affection to the men she was with. She'd kissed Demming a few times in the precinct. The same was true for Josh, on the rare occasions the doctor had come to meet her after work.

_But she closes off when…_

The voice in his mind tailed off, and he frowned. He willed himself to finish the thought.

…_when she's uncomfortable._

Yes. That was true. He'd seen it countless times. In fact, it was most often when they were having a moment.

Finding themselves too close together, or an accidental brush of her fingers when handing her a coffee, or a remark that seemed to have a double meaning. Whenever Ryan or Esposito would ask if they were interrupting anything. She'd close right down, putting distance between them, and change the subject.

And there'd be the barest hint of a flush in her cheeks sometimes, like-

_She's embarrassed._

Everything tilted sideways again, and his hand shot out automatically to brace against a brick wall as he came to an abrupt halt.

_Embarrassed._

Averted eyes. Changed topics. Taking a few steps away.

Deflections of innuendo. A hundred retorts of _in your dreams_, or _no way, Castle_, or just silence.

The horizon tilted again, violently left then right.

_Embarrassed._

He felt the same feeling he always did when the pieces of a case finally clicked together; everything locking into place to reveal the hidden picture. Lies unravelled. Motives exposed. The truth laid bare.

He had been such an idiot. Such an incredible, self-deceiving, monumental fool.

"She was sparing my feelings," he said aloud, drawing a strange look from a passing woman with a small child.

_Yes_, that same voice in the back of his mind replied.

"Because she… felt sorry. For me."

_Yes._

Why else would she be able to casually tell a suspect such an important truth, but not him? The answer was obvious, and it fit all the evidence.

Because she'd come to terms with what happened to her that day at the funeral, and with the PTSD, and her recovery. She's been working at it for months, putting herself back together. She even worked with a therapist during her recuperation, at the NYPD's insistence. She'd emerged from the other side.

She'd come to terms with it all, so much so that she could use it now, even to interrogate a suspect. She'd turned it into a strength; made it part of her arsenal, as she always did.

Except for one part.

_I love you, Kate._

Except for just that one little thing.

_Because she doesn't feel the same way._

He braced for another wave of vertigo, but it never came. The air was crisp, and the city was alive and indifferent, as always.

Castle looked around, searching for anything familiar, but he saw only strangers.

Then the tide of loss and humiliation rose up and swallowed him.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's note: This story diverges from canon after the end of **_**47 seconds**_**, so this is a brief chapter to get us up to that point.**_

_**I foresee a darker path for Castle in this version of events. No Vegas trip at the weekend, and no flight attendant.**_

_**I think that, by this point, he's running on pure hope, and also the cautiously encouraging signals he's been receiving from Beckett. When he suddenly feels that he's been catastrophically wrong all along, I don't think he'd act out – but rather fold in on himself; broken, exhausted and empty.**_

* * *

Beckett glanced over at the empty chair again. Castle had apparently been here a while ago, and had left her coffee on the desk, but according to Esposito he had to leave. That was over an hour ago.

He had been going to say something important to her earlier; she knew it. It was in his eyes. They'd been getting closer lately – moving towards something. She felt more at ease with him than she ever had, and she'd slowly been learning how to let herself show him how much he meant to her.

Once the case was closed, it was time for them to talk. She'd ask him what he wanted to say, and she'd listen, and then she'd work out the next step. The fact that she wanted there to be a next step was a huge change – a testament to her work with Dr. Burke.

_And to Castle's endless patience_, she thought, her eyes again flicking towards the visitor's chair beside her desk.

"Hey," came his voice from nearby, and she turned in her chair to see Castle approaching.

"Hey," she replied, smiling at him. "Where were you?"

"Just clearing my head," he said, his eyes moving immediately to the case file in front of her.

A note of unease briefly stirred somewhere in her intuition, but she ignored it. It had been a very difficult few days, for everyone.

She began to bring him up to speed on the latest developments with the case, and he listened attentively, rarely making eye contact.

He had a strange look on his face, and she was just about to ask if he was OK when Esposito approached with an update from the FBI on the nature of the device that had been detonated in the plaza. Ryan arrived a few moments later, and she forgot all about Castle's unusual behaviour as it became clear she'd need to interview Bobby Lopez again.

* * *

It was over.

Leann West had been taken into custody by the FBI, and Gates had just finished telling them all to go home and get some rest. Castle, Beckett, Ryan and Esposito were still standing in a loose cluster near her desk.

Beckett turned towards the three men.

"You know what? I'm still kind of wired. You guys want to go out for a drink?"

Ryan smiled apologetically. "Ah… sorry, it feels like a month since I've seen Jenny. I should really get home."

Beckett nodded sympathetically, as Esposito glanced first at his partner, and then at her.

"Me too," he said. "I'm tanked. I'll holler at ya."

Both men nodded their farewells, then walked off, and Beckett now turned towards Castle. She felt her stomach twist with nervousness, but also anticipation.

"So I guess it's just us," she said, looking at him carefully. He glanced up at her.

"Yeah," he replied.

She took a breath before continuing.

"You know, now that the case is done… what did you want to talk about?"

He seemed to consider something for a moment, before giving the briefest shake of his head.

"Nothing. Nothing important, anyway," he said. There was another brief pause, then he tilted his head in the direction of the corridor that led to the elevator. "I'm gonna head home. 'Night."

He gave her a perfunctory smile that barely even curled the corners of his mouth, then it vanished, and he immediately turned and strode away.

"G'night…" she called after him, taken aback and suddenly lost. She'd expected him to jump at the chance to join her for a drink without the others, but it seemed like he couldn't get out of the precinct fast enough.

Her brow creased.

_What's going on?_

He'd done that several times today – given her a strange, blank, contemplative look. He hadn't smiled at her since this morning.

Again her intuition stirred, but there was nothing to go on.

_It's been a tough case_, she thought. _And it's been really hard on Alexis. He probably wants to get home to her._

That made sense. That's probably what it was. In a day or so, he'd be back to his usual self.

She pulled on her coat, flipping her hair out over the collar, then she turned to her desk to collect her purse. Her gaze fell on the elevator, which was open.

Castle stood inside, and he looked towards her just as the doors were beginning to close.

His eyes were dark, and his face was pale. His lips were a thin line.

She felt her breath catch in her chest. She hardly recognised him. The confusion she felt became a spike of icy foreboding.

The elevator doors slid fully closed, and she let out the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.

_Just a tough case_, she thought, but she no longer quite believed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Castle sat on the edge of his bed, his shoes discarded on the floor nearby.

He'd been home from the precinct for more than two hours now, and had finished dinner with Alexis and Martha a little while ago. The girl was still shaken and subdued from her work with Lanie during the case, and needed some time to process her experiences. She excused herself after dinner to have an early night.

After Alexis went upstairs, Castle hadn't said much either – and he was grateful that his mother hadn't pushed him. He had thought of talking to her earlier in the day, after he'd overheard Beckett in the interview room, but instead decided to simply walk through the city. He didn't think that he could bear the pity and compassion at the moment.

_So it'll be our secret, Kate_, he thought. _Yours and mine._

His phone sat on the bedside table, already muted and with vibration disabled. None of the team were on call over the upcoming weekend, so there was no chance of a case, and thus almost no chance that Beckett would call him.

Text messages were another matter, but he hadn't checked his phone since he arrived home. He reached for the device now, pressing the Home button to illuminate the screen. The time display indicated it was just before 9 PM. A single notification banner sat in the middle of the screen, and the name beside the green icon was _Kate Beckett_.

He stared at the screen until it dimmed, and then went black.

_Kate Beckett_, he thought. _Beckett, or Kate._

Just twelve hours ago, it had been _Kate_. Everything had been bright. So much potential, just around the corner. Finally, everything he'd been hoping for… but now it was gone.

A distant part of his mind remarked that he'd been very lucky. He found out just in time, by accident, and without having to be told. Without any awkward and painful conversation. Without even any acknowledgement.

He knew that, in the weeks and months to come, he would eventually learn to be incredibly grateful that he'd walked into the observation room when he did. It was almost enough to make you believe in a higher power.

_And now it's… Beckett again, not Kate_, he thought. Because _Kate_ was no longer an option.

"She doesn't owe me anything," he said quietly, speaking to the empty bedroom, just to remind himself that he had no right to expect a different ending. He'd taught Alexis that lesson very carefully, in the hope that it would protect her in future. Affection or generosity never creates debt. It's a choice; a gift. It's never given in exchange for something.

He once again pressed the Home button to wake his phone, then swiped the notification and entered his passcode. The Messages app opened, showing the stream of texts they'd exchanged recently, with the newest one at the bottom. It had apparently arrived almost an hour ago.

_**You left pretty fast today. Everything OK?**_

He pressed the Power button to switch the screen off again.

"Everything's fine," he said, to no-one in particular.

Then he put the phone back where it had been sitting, lay down on the bed, still fully clothed, and reached over to turn out the light.

* * *

Beckett yawned extravagantly, and finally put the book down on the coffee table. It was Patterson's latest, and it was gripping, but her attention kept wandering.

She untucked her legs from the couch and stretched forward to retrieve her phone, pressing the Home button to wake the device. The time read 11:48PM. There were no messages.

An image of Castle's face swam into her mind, from earlier in the day. That strange, pale, dark-eyed look. A shiver of unease chased through her again.

_He seemed so… great this morning._

He was focused, eager, and determined. Sombre because of the case, but he also took several opportunities to lean into her space and make a quiet remark, or glance at her meaningfully for a long moment, or brush past her at the board. It was their new normal; they way they'd been for weeks now.

_What we've been building up to_, she thought.

But then this strange shutdown this afternoon. It was like he was somewhere else, and when he was talking to her, he was… deflated, somehow. Lost inside his own mind.

There had been one point when he'd been in the break room, mechanically making more coffee, and she'd come in just as he was finishing up. She walked over to stand beside him, her elbow brushing against his, and she could swear that he froze for just a moment. She had glanced up at him, expecting a quip, but he was looking straight ahead.

He had just silently set her coffee cup down in front of her, for her to pick up – which was strange. He _always_ took the opportunity to hand her cup directly to her. It was one of their things.

She had given him a slightly quizzical look, but he avoided her gaze, saying he should get back to work.

_He seemed… I don't know. Thrown. Or in shock or something. But it was a tough case._

She frowned. He had said almost nothing that wasn't work-related for the rest of the day, and then he'd left instead of going out for a drink.

"He was just worried about Alexis, and shook up from the case," she said aloud to herself, but she was no longer sure that she believed it.

* * *

The room was pitch black when Castle woke up, momentarily disoriented. He reached out for the nightstand and found his phone, fumbling to illuminate the screen. When he did, he winced at the sudden brightness.

Blinking to clear his vision, he saw that the time was a little after 3 AM. He groaned.

After a few moments, he rolled out of bed and trudged towards the en suite bathroom. When he returned a few minutes later, he was unpleasantly awake again, and he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

He switched on a bedside lamp and quickly changed out of the clothes he'd been wearing the day before, slipping on a t-shirt he usually wore while sleeping. The loft was silent, and there was barely even any noise from the streets below.

_Alone_, his mind whispered, but he pushed the thought away.

He lifted the edge of the duvet, sat down on the bed, and picked up his phone, then he changed his mind and put it down again.

_I remember every second of it_.

All the progress he'd thought they were making. All the moments. The… warming.

_Pity._

The weight of it settled into him, pressing down on his shoulders and surrounding his heart with a kind of insulating numbness. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He switched the light out again, lay down, and pulled the duvet cover over himself.

Looking up at the unseen ceiling in the darkness, he could almost see her face.

_Doesn't owe me anything_, he thought, then his consciousness once again began to slip away.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's note: Apologies for the slow pace of updates to this story; I've been extremely busy. I appreciate your patience, and continued interest.**_

_**I'm taking half an hour before calling it a night to quickly write another brief chapter, which you'll find below. It's already past 10PM on Sunday here in the city of Edinburgh in my home country of Scotland, but hopefully I'll manage to publish this tonight.**_

_**Have a great week.**_

* * *

Alexis padded lightly along the upstairs hallway, barefoot, being careful not to make any noise. It was still relatively early – almost 7AM – but she knew she wasn't going to get back to sleep.

She'd had a couple of nightmares again, just like the last few nights, but they weren't quite as bad as they had been. It was all over now, at least.

She sighed quietly to herself as she went down the stairs. Morning light was streaming into the main floor of the loft, which was unusual – usually the blinds were closed, and Alexis was almost always the one to open them, at breakfast.

Then she saw him.

Castle was sitting on the couch, wearing his t-shirt and pyjama trousers, turned to face towards a window. He was sitting forward, not leaning back, so she was pretty sure that he was awake.

"Dad?" she asked, tentatively, and his head moved slightly, but he didn't turn around.

"Morning, pumpkin," he replied. His voice sounded flat, somehow, and gravelly, as if his throat was dry.

She walked over to where he was sitting, standing just beside the couch. He was still facing mostly away from her.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, and there was a moment of silence before he replied.

"Went to bed early," he said. "More like too much sleep."

Alexi frowned. There was something in his tone; something wrong. She stepped around the couch and his face came into view.

There were barely-visible tracks on his cheeks, leading down from the corners of his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, staring off towards the window, and his pupils were dilated.

_Oh, dad_, she thought, instinctively stepping towards him and laying her hand on his shoulder.

Her touch seemed to pull him back for a moment, and he blinked and then glanced up at her.

"Did you sleep OK?" he asked, and she nodded slowly. Her own nightmares could wait. She could think of only one other time when she'd seen tear-tracks on her father's face.

_Last Summer. When it was really bad._

"Are you alright, dad?" she asked, her voice quiet and her eyes large. Something in her tone must have got through to him, because he seemed to realise where he was, and he scrutinised her face for a long moment before giving her a small smile and opening his arms. Alexis turned and lowered herself into his lap, sitting sideways across his legs.

"I'm fine," he said.

She looked into his eyes for several moments, searching for something, but there was nothing to be seen. His gaze was… flat, somehow. The gentle smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes. She frowned again.

"Well, if you're sure," she replied, with a question still in her voice.

He just nodded, then turned his head to once again look over towards the window, and beyond.

* * *

Beckett had a lie-in for the first time in weeks. Her dreams have been filled with images from the case, but when she woke she did at least feel rested.

She decided to get some exercise to clear her head. By the time she returned from her Saturday morning run, showered, and ate a late breakfast, it was after 10:30 AM.

Today was an errands day; she'd been letting things pile up, and if she made an effort, she could get the apartment back in order, mail dealt with, her fridge stocked, and even give her nails some much-needed attention by dinnertime.

She picked up her phone, idly checking for calls or messages, but there were none. She thought nothing of it, setting the device back down, and with a small sigh she gathered her breakfast dishes and grudgingly stood up.

* * *

Martha insisted on taking Alexis out shopping for the day, to put the past week's events behind them. They had invited Castle, and even pressured him to come, but he insisted that he needed to take care of some things at home. The two women had been gone for a couple of hours now, and it was almost lunchtime.

Castle glanced up from his laptop at the sound of his phone's text message alert. He had stared at a blank page for half an hour before closing the manuscript for the next Nikki Heat book, and since then he'd just been aimlessly surfing the web, trying to keep his mind occupied.

He reached for the device, and his jaw tightened as he saw that it was from Beckett.

_**How's everyone holding up?**_

He knew that her next move would be to call him if she didn't get a reply, so he quickly tapped out a short message, sent it, and then silenced his phone.

_Can I even go back there?_ he wondered, but that was a question for another day. He stood up from his desk, closed the laptop's lid, and wandered through towards the living room.

* * *

Beckett was relieved to hear her phone chirp less than a minute after she'd sent the message. She put away the last of the groceries she'd bought and fished the phone out of her pocket, unlocking it to read his reply.

_**Retail therapy works wonders. Taking some time to decompress. Talk to you on Monday.**_

A small crease appeared on her brow. His reply was… strange. Innocuous enough on the surface, but unusual if you knew him.

No exclamation marks or emoticons. No suggestive or flirtatious banter. And then the last sentence, which sounded more like _I don't plan to talk to you again until Monday_.

She re-read his message, then wandered over to her couch and sat down, still looking at her phone.

_He said he was taking time to decompress_, she thought. _It's just the case that got to him._

But that didn't really ring true. He'd been shaken by some of the things they'd seen before, certainly. He'd been spoken, and scared, and even injured. But he'd always been _Castle_ all through it. He wasn't the kind of man who withdrew. In trying times, he surrounded himself with the people he trusted and–

_loved_

–cared about. He celebrated life. He pestered her endlessly, especially when there was something troubling him.

"Til now," she said aloud, then she unconsciously pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

Her thumb hovered over the on-screen keyboard, but then she sighed. He'd essentially asked for some privacy, and so there was nothing she could do except grant him it. Monday was the day after tomorrow, and honestly she could use some time to herself too.

_We all just need a little break, then we'll get back to normal_, she thought. _Just some… time to decompress. That's all._

She sat the phone down on her coffee table, then tucked her legs up under her. She was still looking at it a minute later when the screen first dimmed, and then went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's note: This version of Castle doesn't need flight attendants to fuel a self-destructive spiral, so I don't see him following a gung-ho bad cop around either. We're skipping **_**Headhunters**_**, and indeed **_**The Limey.**

**As ever, thank you for reading.**

* * *

Monday morning dawned bright and reasonably warm.

Beckett parked her town car not far from the precinct, shut off the engine, and exhaled loudly. It had been a long two days. She hadn't contacted Castle again after receiving his text on Saturday morning, and she hadn't heard from him again either.

She had told herself repeatedly that he was simply out of sorts because of the bombing case, and Alexis' exposure to it via her work at the morgue, but as the hours of Saturday wore on, she began to have doubts. Nightfall brought fresh unease, and she had to stop herself from texting him at a couple of different points during the evening.

Sunday was worse. He would sometimes idly text her on Sunday mornings while he was reading the newspaper; often it would be a snapshot of a comic, or a quote from a particularly overblown column in the arts and culture section. But not this time. By the time she began to make dinner, she was actually nervous about what the next morning would bring.

She sighed, then got out of the car, locked it, and made her way towards the precinct entrance.

_Maybe he'll already be here_, she thought. It was possible. When it was a desk-work morning and they didn't have an unexpected early start, he occasionally surprised her by arriving early.

But today, somehow she didn't think so.

* * *

Castle left the coffee shop clutching his usual morning offerings: a cup holder containing two fresh coffees, and a small brown paper bag with two bear-claws inside. He set off in the direction of the precinct, which was less than three blocks away. His expression was blank.

He'd spent most of the weekend in his office, only occasionally joining Martha and Alexis for meals. He'd told them he was working, but the only file he had open on his laptop contained a long list of moments from the past year or so when he'd thought that he and Beckett were growing closer; when she'd seemed to let her guard down, or allow him into her space, or even made a veiled remark that might indicate she thought they had a future together. The moments he'd clung to, and that kept him going. He'd compiled the list over the course of months, and on days when he was feeling drained or tired of waiting, he read over it, and it helped a little.

Now, beside each entry, he'd added a note explaining it away as something innocuous; a gesture of friendship, or meaningless flirting, or camaraderie between partners. He'd gone through the whole list, re-assessing everything in light of his new knowledge, and by the time he was finished, there was no longer anything that definitively pointed towards her having any feelings towards him beyond close friendship.

He had stared at the newly-annotated file for a long time, scrolling down, then back up, then down again, his middle finger spinning the wheel on his mouse every few seconds.

How completely he'd deceived himself.

That was Saturday. On Sunday, Alexis had gone to visit a friend, and Martha was supervising a rehearsal, so he had the loft entirely to himself. He spent the day in thought, wandering aimlessly around the main floor of the loft, from his office to the living room, to the kitchen area, then the entranceway, and back into the office. He must have completed more than fifty circuits of the place during the afternoon.

At length, he'd come to a decision: he was going back into the precinct on Monday morning, just like normal.

Partly because what they did was important; perhaps the most important work he'd ever done. Also partly because he had friendships there that he was reluctant to walk away from. But also because he needed to see if he was able to be around her now. He needed to test himself, while it was all still fresh, to see whether he was capable of shutting away those feelings that had been his constant companion for the last few years. To deny them light and air, in the hope that they'd quietly wither and vanish.

And so here he was, walking towards the precinct, with their coffee and pastries, just like it was any other morning.

He searched inside himself for the pain that had taken up permanent residence a few days before, and he found it and pushed it down. Then he searched again, and pushed it down further, until he could pretend that it just wasn't there anymore.

He passed by a store with full-height windows made reflective by the brightness of the morning, and he smiled at himself. It looked natural enough, he thought, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes.

It would do.

* * *

Beckett looked up from her desk as she heard the ping of the elevator arriving. The doors slid open, and there he was. She tensed without being aware of it until he stepped out into the hallway, and then she saw that he was carrying two coffees and a paper bag.

Relief flooded through her; more than she'd expected. Her shoulders relaxed, and a smile sprung onto her face. Everything was fine. He was here, and things were back to normal.

She almost stood up, but instead she quickly looked back down at the forms she was filling out, pretending not to have noticed Castle approaching.

A few moments later, out of the corner of her eye she saw him walk up to the visitor's chair, and then he set the cup holder down on the edge of her desk, with the paper bag beside it.

"Morning, Beckett," he said, lowering himself into the chair and picking up his own coffee.

"Hey, Castle," she said brightly, smiling over at him, but he was sipping his coffee and didn't return her gaze. "How's Alexis?"

He nodded, swallowing the mouthful of coffee, then he finally did look over at her. "She's OK. Feeling better. Having a break over the weekend helped her."

Beckett tilted her head in acknowledgement. "I'm glad," she replied, than after a pause she added "Lanie said she was really brave. Totally professional."

He looked down at his coffee cup again, and a small smile appeared on his lips for a moment.

Beckett watched him carefully. He seemed normal enough, if maybe just a little quiet.

"And are _you_ OK?" she asked, not realising she was going to say it until she'd already spoken. He looked up at her, and there was the briefest flash of… something across his face before he simply raised an eyebrow.

"Me? I'm fine," he replied. "How was your weekend?"

A part of her mind noted that he'd changed the subject, but she didn't press him on it, instead telling him that her weekend has been mostly chores and then lazing around her apartment. She'd gone for a run on Sunday, then spent a couple of hours fully reading the newspaper, as usual.

Castle kept his expression mostly neutral as he listened to her, throwing in the occasional small smile where appropriate.

_I can do this_, he thought. _No problem._

He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning slightly towards him as she said something about the episode of _Temptation Lane_ she'd watched yesterday evening, and he nodded, hoping the gesture was appropriate in context.

_Just like normal_, he thought, setting his coffee down on the desk. _She's your partner, and everything's fine_.

Beckett had stopped talking now, and she had a quizzical look on her face. She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curled into a grin and she fixed him with one of her mock-exasperated looks.

"Castle, are you _listening_ to me?" she said playfully – and then she suddenly reached out towards his hand, resting on the edge of the desk.

He couldn't help it.

Before he even had a chance to think, he flinched and pulled his hand away, letting his arm fall across his lap.

Beckett froze, her grin vanishing immediately.

_He… recoiled. From me._

She felt her pulse pounding in her chest, and an icy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. She watched as something dark flitted across his expression, just for an instant, and then he was giving her a tight-lipped smile.

"Huh," he said. "Sorry. Guess I'm a little jumpy this morning." He picked up his cup again and quickly took a large gulp of coffee.

She sat back a little in her chair, and she was surprised to find something like panic fluttering around in her chest.

He never, _ever_ rejected physical contact with her. Never. No matter what the situation was. Most days, he initiated it himself.

_Something's wrong._

She swallowed, reaching for her own coffee just to give her something to do with her hands. She took a sip, and then glanced up at him again. He was staring at a patch of floor a few feet away, with that fake half-smile still lingering on his face like a poorly-made mask.

His eyes were flat, and almost grey.

_Something's very wrong._

She drew in a breath and opened her mouth to say something – anything – but she never had the chance to speak.

"Yo," Esposito said, arriving at the other side of her desk in a few brisk steps. "Happy Monday. We got a case, boss."

He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder towards the vicinity of his and Ryan's desks, and Castle immediately stood up, taking his coffee cup with him.

"OK," Beckett replied, only partly focused on the other detective. "Let's go."

Castle had already walked off towards where Ryan was sitting, without another look at her.

She momentarily debated whether to leave her cup here, but then she closed both her hands around it. The warmth was a vague comfort.

As she followed Esposito over towards the next section of the bullpen, her step faltered as she remembered how Castle had set the cup holder down on her desk, instead of discarding it in the trash can as usual.

That was the second time he hadn't handed her coffee to her.


	7. Chapter 7

The case turned out to be straightforward, and they were charging and processing the only suspect by mid-afternoon.

A quick close so early in the week was good for everyone's morale, and Gates was looking suitably pleased as she congratulated Beckett and the team, then returned to her office.

Castle took the opportunity to slip away to the break room while Beckett was assigning parts of the case's paperwork to Ryan and Esposito. He started the coffee machine brewing, grateful for a few moments alone.

_You can do this_, he told himself.

What happened this morning at her desk was just a slip. It was inevitable, really. This was day one. The important thing was that it wasn't going to happen again.

He automatically reached for two cups, set them onto the machine's drip tray, and then paused.

_Coffee for two._

How many times had he stood here?

It had been more than three and a half years. Five or six days a week, most weeks. Five or more times per day. Even accounting for the Summers he'd missed, that was still a minimum of 3,500 times that he'd been in this very spot, making two cups of coffee. No wonder he barely had to think about it anymore. He wondered if there was anything else in his life that he'd practised more than three thousand times. Nothing came to mind.

And the reason he'd done it, of course, was that it wasn't just coffee. It was a message; rich, and warm, and invigorating. It was one of the most important ways that he told her–

_Kate… I love you. I love you, Kate._

–how he felt about her, every day. It was their special thing.

How many times had he stood here, and thought about her? The answer was simple: every time.

He looked down at the two cups sitting there.

_Now it's just coffee_, he thought. Dark. Bitter. Burning.

He leaned his palms heavily against the countertop. The elaborate machine hissed and spat, as if it were furious with him.

_Took you long enough!_ it seemed to say.

Maybe that's what it had been telling him all along, frustrated at his self-deception, and his mindless optimism. Maybe it was amused at first, then pitying, then irritated, and finally – as he visited it hundreds and then _thousands_ of times – it just despised how willingly he was setting himself up to be destroyed.

Here comes the fool again, for another two cups.

One for her (_I love you_), and one for himself (_I love her_).

"Idiot," he muttered to himself, as he completed the familiar ritual. There would be no finishing touches now; no design artfully drawn across the foam. No fig leaf, or – on daring days – the barest suggestion of a heart, or even a simple smiley face.

Just coffee.

"Castle?"

He was startled by her voice from behind him, but this time he didn't flinch.

_You can do this_, he told himself, then he picked up his own cup and turned around.

"All done," he said, with what he hoped was a convincing smile, gesturing towards the cup that was waiting for her on the machine's drip tray.

She looked puzzled for a moment, then she crossed to pick up her cup. Castle moved out of her way as she approached, then he took a couple of steps towards the doorway.

"Thanks," she said, with a smile that was warm but tentative.

He just nodded, taking a sip of the dark liquid.

Beckett watched him carefully, ignoring the tension she was feeling. She'd been on edge since the incident at her desk this morning, and her heightened awareness of him made her notice a whole series of little changes in how he acted around her.

He stood further away from her, and often ended up standing nearer to Ryan or Esposito than to her. He looked at her when he was speaking to her, or when she was talking, but not once had she caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not a single time – and that was absolutely unheard-of.

_He's not kidding around as much either_, she thought, again feeling a twist of alarm.

No crazy theories; no deliberately bad puns. And he wasn't flirting with her. She'd even given him an opportunity earlier, with a remark that could easily be interpreted as a double-entendre, but he just looked away. When he _did_ look at her, his expression was blank.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fumbling for something to say, and she was aware that her pulse was a little too fast.

"Not a bad start to the week," she said, inwardly cringing at how inane it sounded.

"Mm," he replied, again giving her that half-smile that barely curled his lips before vanishing again.

_What's going on with you?_

She took a small step towards him, and he turned his head away just a fraction, covering the movement by taking another sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, then gave her a quick nod before turning and walking back out into the bullpen.

Beckett watched him walk away.

_It's me_, she thought, shocked by the realisation. _He… doesn't want to be near me._

Real panic rose up in her now, slamming into her chest and making her breath catch in her throat. It wasn't last week's case that was bothering him, or worrying about his daughter – somehow, it was _her_.

She frantically tried to think of anything she could have said or done, but nothing came to mind.

_Why didn't I notice this sooner?_

She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she was already afraid she knew what his response would be: that there was nothing wrong. That everything was fine. Maybe that he was just a little tired, or preoccupied.

_Or a little jumpy this morning._

Then there was his text on Saturday, dismissing her until today. And the night before that, when he hadn't replied to her message. And he'd left the precinct quickly on Friday, after those occasional, strange, blank looks during the day. She still remembered how pale his face had looked in the elevator.

_He went somewhere_, she thought. _He told Esposito there was someplace he needed to be._

That's when everything had changed. He came back, and he was different.

_He said he was just clearing his head._

Faces flashed through her mind.

Gina. Possible, but there wasn't anything between them now besides business, was there?

Meredith. She was in California, wasn't she?

Kyra. She was married, and as far as Beckett knew, they didn't keep in touch.

Someone else? But… there was no indication of anything like that. They'd been fine. Better than fine; _great_. They'd been… on the brink of something.

Could he have just got tired of waiting, so suddenly?

_You're reaching_, her mind said, and she frowned. It was true. She had nothing to go on. The only one who could tell her what was going on was out there in the bullpen.

Her eyes found him standing near her desk just as he looked in her direction, and for just a moment, something passed across his face again. Then he turned his head away and took another sip of his coffee.

Castle almost flinched when he saw that she was looking at him from the break room. She had her _I will solve this case_ look on her face, and his heart sank.

_She's noticed something's wrong._

But of course she had. It was her job, and she knew him well. Far too well, in fact. But he couldn't immediately look away.

She was beautiful. Brown and gold curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face. Exquisite cheekbones below large, dark, captivating eyes. The smooth, pale skin of her elegant neck. The graceful, lithe line of her body. He even knew what she smelled like.

_Cherries. Coconut. Vanilla. Coffee._

His heart lurched, and he felt the coldness settle deeper into his bones. He turned his head away, and took a sip of his coffee.

He wanted to sleep, even though he knew he was doing too much of that lately. He knew it was a warning sign. But it made the world go away for a while.

He glanced at his wristwatch, and it was still only mid afternoon. She would come back to her desk soon. He felt like he was standing in a minefield.

Maybe he could find some reason to work with Ryan and Esposito, just for the rest of the day.

Maybe he could say he had some writing to catch up on, and was heading home early.

Maybe–

He sighed, letting himself drop into the visitor's chair beside her desk.

_Maybe I can't do this anymore_, he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

The afternoon was dragging. Beckett had almost finished her share of the paperwork for the case, and it was nearly time to head home.

She glanced to her left, looking at the empty visitor's chair for what must have been the fiftieth time since he'd left earlier.

_I have some writing to catch up on_, he said. Nothing about calling him if there was another case. Nothing about seeing her tomorrow. She'd asked if he was OK, and he said he was fine.

Just… fine.

Everything about him was off; strange, and wrong. He hadn't even said goodbye. He just stood up, stepped around the chair, and vanished. She was pretty sure he'd taken the stairs, too, as if he didn't want to wait around for the elevator.

She finished her report, but her mind was elsewhere. Her instinct was to go to the loft and confront him, but she knew that he'd just stonewall her. A less direct approach was needed.

Beckett took her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, and tapped his name in the Phone app. The fingers of her free hand drummed nervously on the worn surface of her desk.

The call connected, and began to ring. Once, twice, three times.

Five. Ten.

Fifteen.

She waited until it had rung a full thirty times before hanging up in defeat.

"Damn it," she muttered to herself, feeling her heart fluttering in her chest.

* * *

Castle sat on the small leather sofa in his office, with the door closed. His laptop was perched on his thighs, and his thumbs tapped rhythmically on its aluminium surface.

The document he was staring at was entitled _Ways to kill off Rook_.

There were six paragraphs of text, each of them a brief summary of a different scenario. Of the six, two were viable plot lines. In each of those two, he'd set Nikki up with a new male partner; one was a former private investigator, and the other was an inspector from Scotland Yard, on permanent assignment in New York.

In either case, Rook would die – valiantly – and then Nikki would work through her grief by pursuing his murderers, with the help of her new partner. She'd take down the culprits, and she'd move on with her life.

_Easier said than done_, he thought.

It was childish, really. Petulant. Killing off the character that was his own avatar in the world of Nikki Heat. He'd been pushing the boundaries when he created a version of himself as a partner and love interest for the fictional personification of Beckett, but she'd never given him much pushback on that aspect of the books.

They were love letters, of course.

Paeans and tributes, yes, but mostly they were his way of letting her see how it could be between them. In order to show her a few moments, he'd created an entire world.

In that world, at least, he still had control.

He sighed, and then closed the lid of the laptop. His phone sat on the desk, silenced and forgotten.

_I should start dinner_, he thought. Alexis would be home soon, and he enjoyed the increasingly rare occasions when he could have a meal waiting for her.

He dragged himself out of his chair with considerable effort, and walked slowly through towards the kitchen.

* * *

It was a few hours later when Beckett finally gave up pretending to watch TV in her apartment, and set out to go and confront Castle at the loft.

She arrived within twenty minutes, and fidgeted nervously as the elevator ascended.

_Just… go easy_, she counselled herself. _He's already hiding himself away._

Once again the panic swirled inside her. She had no idea what could have happened to make him suddenly not want to be near her, and his refusal to even acknowledge that there was anything wrong scared her.

He usually made it very clear when he was upset about something. He'd be vocal about it, or at least moody or sarcastic. He never just shut down like this.

_He's the one who communicates for both of us._

That was the heart of it, and her pulse fluttered at the realisation. He was the one who reached out, who brought things up, and who made her face possibilities that she shied away from. He was the one who wanted her to believe in wonders – whether it was aliens and ninjas, or the idea that she could have a life beyond her own quest.

But now the communicator had stopped talking, and she was lost. And they had been _so close_. They were finally going somewhere. She was finally letting it happen. But now this.

She despaired at the unfairness of it, and again wracked her mind trying to work out what could have gone wrong. She was no closer to an answer when the elevator doors finally slid open, so she took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway, and towards the familiar steel and red door.

She knocked, bracing herself for that blank expression he was wearing lately, but when the door swung open it was Martha's smiling face that she saw instead.

"Detective Beckett; what a pleasant surprise. Do come in," the older woman said, stepping aside to allow Beckett to enter. Martha's dress was a riot of colour, as usual, and she seemed to carry light and life around her like an aura.

"Hi, Martha," Beckett said, with a warm smile that was part affection and part relief. At least she was still in favour with his mother.

"Now, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Martha asked, after closing the door and taking Beckett's coat, but before she could reply, Alexis called across from the living room area.

"Hi, Detective Beckett!"

"Hey, Alexis," she replied. "It's nice to see you."

The girl smiled at her. "Nice to see you too."

Beckett returned the smile, feeling a little calmer again.

_Two out of three_, she thought, and then her smile faded. She turned to Martha.

"Is Castle here?" she asked, and her brow creased in concern as the two redheads exchanged a look.

Martha put an arm around her shoulders and led her over to the couch where Alexis was already sitting.

"Yes, but he's not available at the moment," the older woman said. "He's asleep."

Beckett's gaze moved from Martha to Alexis and back again, and both wore the same expression: concern.

"At…" – she checked her wristwatch, raising an eyebrow when she saw the time – "…eight thirty?"

Alexis sighed and looked down at her hands folded in her lap, and Martha tilted her head as if to acknowledge that it was unusual.

"He's been sleeping a lot lately," the girl said, not looking up.

Beckett glanced at her, and then at Martha, who nodded slowly. "He said he wasn't feeling well," Martha added.

Beckett frowned, considering this new information. Could be just be sick? But he seemed physically fine.

Martha sensed the question before Beckett had a chance to ask it, and she waved her hand dismissively. "I don't believe he's ill," she said quietly. "But…"

She tailed off, and Beckett frowned again. "Martha?" she prompted, and the other woman sighed.

"But there's certainly something wrong."

Alexis looked up at last, and Beckett could see the worry in the girl's striking eyes. She felt a surge of protectiveness towards her, and she also sighed before speaking.

"I know," she said, unconsciously lowering her voice even though Castle's bedroom was all the way across the expansive main floor. "I've noticed it too. That's why I came over, to ask him about it. He just keeps telling me he's fine."

"That's what he told me, too," Alexis said. "But he's not."

"You're right," Beckett replied, sitting down beside the girl and laying a hand on her forearm. Martha joined them, glancing over towards the darkened office area briefly.

The three women sat in pensive silence for a few moments before Beckett spoke again.

"Do either of you have any idea what's going on with him?"

Martha and Alexis shook their heads, and Beckett pursed her lips.

"I'm worried about him," she said, then she paused for a moment before continuing. "I think… it's something to do with me."

"Why ever would you think that?" Martha asked, with surprise written all over her face, and Beckett averted her gaze for a moment before briefly recounting the various moments over the last few days when he'd clearly been uncomfortable in her presence.

"I wondered if… maybe he was, you know, … seeing somebody," she said at last, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. Martha and Alexis exchanged another look, and Beckett's pulse accelerated.

_Oh god_, she thought. _That's it, isn't it? He's seeing someone._

"He most certainly is not," Martha said, and Alexis nodded in agreement. "I know my son, and…"

She tailed off again, and Beckett simply willed herself to wait, her breath whistling slightly in her nose.

"Well, it's been some time since he's even considering dating… anyone else," Martha finished delicately, and Alexis once again looked down at her hands, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

Beckett felt a surge of embarrassment, and shame. She didn't often think about how it wasn't just Castle she was keeping waiting. His mother and daughter must know how he feels too, and it would be only natural if they resented her for it.

She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then she felt Martha's hand on her shoulder again.

"In any case, he spent the entire weekend here, in his office," she said. "Or in bed, come to think of it."

"There's something else, too," Alexis said reluctantly, and the other two women looked at her. The girl wrung her hands together, then sighed and looked up at them.

"I found him here on Saturday morning," she said. "It was early. Earlier than I've ever seen him up, actually. He was just sitting here looking over at the window."

Beckett frowned, waiting for Alexis to continue. After a moment, she did.

"He said he was fine, but he was a little out of it. He was quiet, like he was thinking about something. And–"

She paused, quickly looking between her grandmother and Beckett, with concern plainly visible on her face.

"And?" Beckett asked gently, laying a hand on the girl's forearm again. Alexis sighed.

"And it looked like… he'd been crying."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's note: This seems like a more believable trajectory for Castle's emotions after he discovers Beckett's secret, given his background and the depth of his feelings. It's necessary for him to move through this stage before he can begin to put himself back together.**_

**_I hope you haven't personally had the experience of being consumed by that blackness - going all the way down, into the dark water - but, speaking from my own travels there, it's a surprisingly embracing, seductive, distorting, deadening thing. It brings its own bleak logic to subdue your own, turning certainties into unknowns, and banishing your ability to see where tomorrow might be better than today._**

**_I don't think this is the first time Castle has visited this particular oubliette of the mind._**

* * *

Castle woke up early again, but managed to fall back asleep until he heard the sounds of breakfast being prepared. He briefly considered just taking a long shower, until he had the loft to himself, but he didn't want to miss seeing Alexis before she went out for the day.

He got out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and wandered through towards the kitchen. Martha and Alexis were both bustling around, and they greeted him with identical momentary looks of worried scrutiny, quickly replaced with overly bright smiles. He summoned every ounce of willpower to inject some enthusiasm into his _Good morning_, and he was glad when Alexis came over to hug him. He pressed a kiss into her hair, and silently told himself to get it together.

Thankfully, breakfast was mostly a quiet affair.

Martha mentioned that Beckett had stopped by the night before, after he'd gone to bed. His mother was circumspect about the topic of conversation, but she made it clear that all three of them were worried about him. Alexis occasionally looked up at him with wide, watchful eyes.

Castle evaded Martha's concern, telling her that he was simply coming down with something, and tired. He'd be back to his usual self in a few days.

He knew that neither woman fully believed him, but they at least let the matter drop, and within half an hour he had the place to himself once again.

When Beckett called him just before lunchtime about a case, he let it go to voicemail, then he texted her saying he was taking a day or two to get over a cold. She replied quickly, asking if there was anything she could bring him, but he had already discarded his phone. He only saw the message hours later, in mid-afternoon, along with another, much shorter one:

_**How are you feeling?**_

A simple question, but with a pretty damned complicated answer. He wasn't sure what the length limit on an iMessage was, but he doubted it was enough – not that he felt like getting into it all anyway.

_She'll only come over later if I don't reply_, he thought, so he wearily tapped out a brief message and sent it.

He made sure the mute switch was activated, set the phone down on a countertop, and went through into his office.

* * *

Beckett stood in the break room, watching the coffee machine warily. She'd seen him do this so many times – Hundreds? _Thousands_? – but she'd never taken the time to fully master the elaborate device. She could make a basic cup of coffee, but trying for foam or hot milk tended to result in a spray across the countertop, and burned fingers.

She sighed.

_What happened to us?_

One day, everything was fine, and then… this. She felt clumsy, and jittery, and distracted. Like she had one hand tied behind her back. Or like something important was missing. And that was pretty much the truth, wasn't it?

The coffee machine hissed, but she barely glanced at it.

She was about to text Alexis to ask how Castle had been this morning, when her phone suddenly chirped in her pocket. She quickly fished it out and saw his name beside the green notification icon. The unlocked the device to read the message.

_**Same. Probably best to count me out at the precinct for a bit. I'll be in touch.**_

She frowned, feeling her chest tighten with that panicky feeling again. That was twice now that he'd dismissed her for a few days with no more than a text message.

_I have to see him_, she thought. It was as much a compulsion as a decision, but she was in no mood to debate the distinction. The problem was, she couldn't leave the precinct right now – they had a status update with Gates in less than ten minutes.

_I could call him_.

But he wouldn't answer. She knew that, somehow. She knew it already. When did that happen?

She was torn between her desperation at this abrupt change in him – and her need to get some answers about it – and the realisation that he had always given her time whenever she needed it.

_He's given me four years of time_, she thought. But they were two different people. And she knew that she was a hypocrite.

"I'm not just going to let you hide from me," she said quietly to herself, typing another message. She tapped the Send button before she could think better of it.

* * *

_I've been here before_, Castle thought.

He was sitting on the couch in the living room area again, looking towards a window, watching the light gradually change as afternoon wore on.

It had a couple of hours since he'd sent the reply to Beckett, then muted the device and set it aside. He tried to work for an hour or so, but his mind kept wandering, and finally he'd given up. If he needed time to process what had happened, then he'd take as much as necessary.

The day was still bright, but the black shadows cast by the afternoon sun had started to lengthen. Every few minutes, they had advanced just a little bit more. He watched patiently, letting his mind take him wherever it wished.

_First there was Kyra_, he thought.

The great love affair, before he really knew what love was. Something pure, and all-encompassing. He'd thought that they had defied conventional wisdom, and found soul mates in each other at such a young age. But it ended. Ultimately, she chose her parents' approval over his love for her.

_Then Meredith_.

The adventure. How fascinating and vivacious she'd been. A free spirit, unwilling to play by the rules – and so driven. She'd given him a daughter, even though the event wasn't planned. He'd always felt a little breathless with her; playing catch-up, and trying to hold on. When Alexis was born, he'd tried to believe that the pace would slow down. But it ended. Motherhood didn't suit her. Responsibility didn't suit her. And commitment didn't suit her at all, as he found out when he came home that night, just able to hear the baby crying upstairs as his wife and the casting director scrambled to gather up clothing.

_Gina._

The safe choice. Beautiful, intelligent, but grounded. She moved in the same world as he did. He understood her, and she was quite willing to be understood. She even tried to form a bond with Alexis, even though he held his daughter carefully away from her. Gina's life was all about rules, and boundaries, and deadlines. Sane, orderly, and – for the most part – reasonable. But it ended. He supposed he'd set it in motion himself right from the start, by reserving part of himself (and all of his relationship with his daughter), just in case this one didn't last either. She was just too much of an opposite from the other women he'd been close to before. There was no magic, and he'd come to realise that magic was what his heart most wanted to believe in.

He sighed. The shadows were even longer now, creeping steadily across the floor towards him. They hadn't quite reached him yet, but it was only a matter of time.

_And then there's… Kate._

The name seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He hadn't allowed himself to call her anything except Beckett, or Detective, since last week's… what? Event? Plot twist?

He waited a moment to see if there was any sense of humour left in him, but apparently not.

_She's different from the others_, he thought, then he nodded to himself.

Goddess. Warrior. Little girl lost. The strongest, most determined, most passionate, but also most damaged person he knew. A woman living three lives: the cop, seeking justice; the survivor, seeking vengeance; the young woman, forever frozen in time at the point of her life's greatest tragedy. Terrified of more being taken from her, she accepted nothing. Consumed by love for the mother she had lost, but unable to let herself be truly loved by others.

_And hiding in relationships she knows won't last_.

She hadn't promised him anything. Even the closest she ever came to it – the conversation on the swings – was just about being able to have _the kind of relationship she wanted_. It was a beautifully ambiguous phrase, ready for the listener to apply their own meaning to. He'd jumped right in with both feet, hanging his own hope neatly on the offered peg.

He blinked, breathing through the bitterness until some of its sharpness faded.

She owed him nothing. He was the one who had fallen in love with her – how could he not? – and he was the one who should have seen this coming. It was inevitable. Just the fulfilment of an unbroken cycle.

She was different from the others, yes. But not in the most important way. Not in the way that always broke him.

_Why don't they love me the way I love them?_

The worst part was that, before her, he was never entirely sure he knew what being in love actually meant. Now he did, most definitely.

Kate Beckett was the love of his life.

_And we never had a chance._

He sat in perfect stillness for a long moment, then let his gaze fall once again to the floor.

The shadows had finally reached him. In a way, it was a relief. As with so many things in life, the waiting was the worst part.

He closed his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's note: We're coming to the point where Beckett has to start pushing back, but these situations aren't resolved overnight. Those who want a quick resolution should look elsewhere.**_

* * *

Beckett stood outside the main door of the loft once again, just as she had the previous evening.

It was earlier this time – just before 6PM, and she'd texted Alexis to say she was coming over to see Castle. The girl had responded that they'd be having dinner soon, and she'd be most welcome to join them.

_I doubt your father will feel that way_, she thought.

Her message to him a few hours before was simple:

_**I'll drop by later to see how you are.**_

There had been no reply, but at least she knew he wouldn't be asleep this time. She took a calming breath, then knocked twice on the door. Barely ten seconds later, it swung open to reveal Alexis.

"Hi, Detective Beckett," the girl said brightly, ushering her inside, and Beckett smiled at her.

"Hey, Alexis. How are you?" she replied, noticing how the girl looked away from a brief moment before meeting her eyes again.

"I'm fine," Alexis replied. She paused, then continued in a quieter voice. "He's in his office."

Beckett nodded, feeling that fluttering sensation in her chest again. "OK. I should go and say hi."

"Are you staying for dinner?" Alexis asked quickly, and Becket sighed.

"I guess… that depends," she replied honestly. "Let's wait and see."

Alexis nodded, and Beckett reached out to lay her hand on the girl's shoulder briefly, giving her another small smile. Then she turned and walked carefully across to the closed door in the partition wall that separated Castle's office from the rest of the loft's main floor.

There was faint music playing from within – soft jazz – and the occasional soft click of a laptop keyboard. She relaxed her posture as best she could, put a smile on her face despite the uneasiness she was feeling, and knocked lightly on the door.

She heard him say "Come in," and so she turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside, letting the door swing mostly closed again behind her.

He was sitting at his desk, his attention focused on the screen of his laptop. After a moment, he briefly glanced up, then froze. Something that was almost a wince passed across his face like a shadow, then his expression became completely blank.

Her smile faltered, and the feeling of panic surged through her. They looked at each other for a couple of seconds that felt like minutes, then she watched as he sat up straighter in his chair, pulling his hands back from the keyboard.

"Beckett," he said.

His voice was even, and his tone was unremarkable. It was a simple acknowledgement, as if they were in the bullpen and she'd walked over to join him at the murder board. It was businesslike. Courteous and polite.

_The way you'd greet a colleague_, she thought.

She swallowed, willing away the dread she was feeling. This wasn't the man she knew at all. This wasn't _them_. Everything was wrong.

"Hi," she said cautiously, in a small voice. She wanted to approach him, but if she saw that wince on his face again, she thought she might… what? Cry? Shrivel up inside?

He was still looking at her, clearly waiting for her to say something else. She clenched and unclenched her hands in her coat pockets.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and she saw his eyes flick away for a moment, and then back.

"Still a little under the weather," he replied. "I'm going to take a few days off."

Her gaze moved briefly to the laptop.

"From the precinct," he added.

_From me_, she thought, giving the barest nod and then looking around the expansive room. Maybe thirty seconds of silence passed before he spoke again.

"Was there something else?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," she replied softly, not looking at him at first, and then slowly turning her head back around to face him. "Something's… changed. With you."

His eyes widened, and the blank expression she'd become so used to seeing lately slipped, just for a moment. She almost gasped at the bleak, miserable look that flickered across his face – and then, just as quickly, his brow creased and his eyes narrowed in an utterly unfamiliar flash of what looked like contempt. A fraction of a second later, the blank look was back.

She was suddenly aware of the tension radiating from him. How had she missed that? It was everywhere in his body language. He was fighting to maintain control.

_But of what?_

She instinctively took a couple of steps towards the desk, and his hands drew further back towards his body.

"Nothing's changed," he said. "Everything's fine."

His tone was even, of course - oh so perfectly even, as if he'd been practising – but everything about his posture said _go away_.

Her pulse quickened again. Just a few weeks ago, he'd have sprung up from his chair, delighted at a visit from her. Now he could barely stand to be in the same room.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at him, imploring him to answer her, and now she noticed his pulse at his neck. She could faintly hear his breathing, as it almost whistled through his nose.

"Castle, what… what did I _do_?"

He flinched. Again, the mask slipped for a moment, then again he hauled it back up. It was clearly costing him more and more each time.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, his words now audibly strained. A single horizontal crease was visible on his forehead. "Nothing's happened. Everything's–"

"–_Not_ fine," she interrupted. "Your mother and daughter are both worried about you. _I'm_ worried about you." She paused, trying to rein in the increasing pitch of her voice. "Just… please, help me to understand."

She took another step towards his desk, now within arm's reach of it.

"We can figure out how to fix this. Together."

There was a moment of stillness, then he just seemed to deflate in front of her. He slumped ever so slightly in his chair, and his hands loosened on the desk. His gaze lowered to an empty area of the wooden surface without seeing it.

She could almost swear that his face paled.

"I'm tired," he said, and he did indeed suddenly sound exhausted.

Beckett felt the worry rise up inside her again, and she was about to speak when he abruptly lifted himself out of his chair.

"I'm just… coming down with something," he said. "I need to rest. I'll call you in a few days."

He hadn't looked at her at all while speaking, and now he took a few heavy steps off towards the door that she knew led to his bedroom. She quickly rounded the edge of the desk, and reached out towards him.

His arm came up instantly, his palm towards her in the universal gesture for _stop_.

"Don't," he said, his voice rough. "Please… don't."

Beckett stood there, shocked. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She allowed her outstretched arm to fall slowly to her side, and she felt a tear spill out from the corner of her eye.

He looked up at her, and his expression crumpled for the briefest moment, as if he'd been physically struck. It wasn't a flinch, or a recoil, but real pain she saw there.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then suddenly he was half striding and half lurching across the office towards his bedroom door, and then he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Castle sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for his pulse to slow down.

She had reached out towards him, and almost touched him. He couldn't bear it, and he'd reacted by instinct, telling her to stop. He saw the tear on her cheek a few seconds later. He couldn't bear that, either.

He hoped she'd left. It was almost ten minutes ago that he'd retreated from the office, but surely she'd take the hint and just leave quietly.

_It's still OK_, he thought. He could still pass this all off as the result of tiredness, or whatever bug was going around. After all, that's what they did – they avoided awkward subjects. They pretended that things had never happened.

_Sometimes for months_, he thought, and his shoulders sagged.

It had been torture to see her standing there in front of his desk, looking concerned, speaking to him softly. She said they'd figure out how to fix it, together. It was too much. Too soon.

_Just let me be, Kate_, he thought. _Just… give me time to get past this._

He felt like he was drowning, and most of the time he didn't even care. Occasionally, though, he'd realise just how far he'd slid down towards… whatever this was. How much time he was spending on his own, or asleep. It was dangerous.

_Got to get it together_.

He'd take a few days off from the precinct. Do his best to reassure Alexis and his mother. Put the pieces back together.

Then he'd go back into the 12th, take Beckett aside and apologise for his absence, tell her he felt better, and get on with the work.

He'd smile, and laugh, and bring her coffee. He wouldn't flirt with her, or invite her over. He'd be her partner, and in time, he hoped he could find a way to continue being her friend too.

Simple. That was the plan, and having a plan is always the first step.

A soft knock on the bedroom door pulled him from his train of thought.

_Dinner._ He wasn't hungry, but he also wasn't going to disappoint or further worry his daughter.

"I'll be right there, pumpkin," he called.

He was about to get up when he heard the door-handle turning, and he glanced over just in time to see the door being pushed slowly open.

Beckett stood there.

* * *

She stood motionless in his office for long minutes after he had left the room.

_Oh god_.

He couldn't bear for her to touch him. Castle, the man who was forever staring at her, and flirting with her, and finding excuses to invade her personal space. But that had all changed now.

She looked over at the door to his bedroom, feeling a familiar shiver, but this was no time for arousal. Inside that room, there was a broken man. Her partner. Her friend. Her… what?

_Everything_, she thought.

She swiped at the wetness on her cheeks, hoping that Alexis wouldn't come through to check on them. She could hear vague sounds from the main part of the loft, and knew that dinner preparations were underway.

She should go. She should leave, and give him his few days. That's what he said he wanted.

She turned and walked halfway across to the door that led back into the living room area, but then she stopped.

_I can't._

She was breathing too quickly, and she forced herself to slow down. Her hand came up automatically to press her fingers over the scar on her chest.

"_No,_" she said, almost inaudibly. It was practically a sob.

She had no idea how to deal with this. He wouldn't tell her what was wrong. He wouldn't tell his mother, or his daughter. He couldn't bear to be around her, and she wasn't getting through to him.

It wasn't meant to be like this. It was never meant to be like this. They had been _almost there_.

More tears spilled out, and she swiped them away angrily before they could roll past her cheekbones.

The frustration and fear and jitteriness she was feeling all solidified into determination. It was how she had always handled those paralysing feelings. Use them as fuel. Turn them into a source of strength.

She had to at least _know_. Then she'd decide what to do.

She crossed to the closed door of his bedroom, and knocked lightly on it.

His voice came from inside, so heartbreakingly normal-sounding.

"_I'll be right there, pumpkin._"

Her mouth fell open. He thought she was Alexis. Doubt surged through her, but she fiercely pushed it away.

_No._ Losing all the progress they'd made wasn't an option. She wasn't going to let this happen.

She gripped the door-handle, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

He was sitting on the edge of the room's enormous bed, looking over at her. She saw the surprise and dread register on his face, and she pushed aside the stab of hurt she felt.

She stayed in the doorway, not stepping across the threshold.

"First time you've called me 'pumpkin'," she said, knowing it was a lame joke but not knowing what else to say.

He didn't smile. Instead, he looked at her for several seconds, then he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head before looking at her again.

"Beckett, will you _please_ just leave me alone?" he asked, wearily. "Don't make me ask you to leave."

She sniffed, willing herself not to turn around and do exactly as he wanted. Instead, she put one foot inside the doorway.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, and she saw his jaw tighten. "For pushing. But I know… something's gone wrong. It's something I did, isn't it?"

His jaw twitched, but he didn't respond, so she kept talking.

"If you could just tell me what it was, I can try to… fix this. Please, Rick."

His eyes widened at her very rare use of his first name. She took another half-step, so that she was now standing just inside the doorway, in his bedroom. Despite the circumstances, she felt a flush in her cheeks.

He still hadn't said anything, but he hadn't thrown her out, either.

"I'm confused," she said quietly. "I don't know what changed. I thought we were…"

She tailed off, and she saw that his eyes were fixed on her, deep blue and turbulent.

"We were _what_, Beckett?" he asked, in a small, flat voice that sounded defeated more than anything else.

She shrugged one shoulder, her eyes flicking down to the floor then back up again.

"Going somewhere," she replied. "Getting somewhere."

He snorted, and somehow that hurt more than his obvious discomfort at her presence. She felt a chill run up her spine, and her breath caught in her throat.

"But you… you don't want… that. Anymore," she said, half to herself, the realisation cutting straight through her.

_Oh god_.

Tears rolled down her cheeks again, and she swiped them away. She looked at him, and he seemed surprised.

_(110 seconds)_

"_I_ don't?" he asked, but she couldn't understand what he meant. She couldn't understand much of anything right now. She wanted to turn and run.

_It happened_, her mind chattered, again and again. _He finally stopped waiting. Oh god it actually happened._

She reached out for the door frame and grasped it with one hand. She was vaguely aware that he had risen to his feet, but he was still standing by the bed.

_(103)_

"I…" she began, but she had no words. It was the scenario she never allowed herself to think about. The one that had been inevitable all along.

Of _course_ he was going to realise one day that he could be with anyone he wanted. Of _course_ he was going to finally decide that she was more trouble than she was worth. Of _course_ he was going to see how she took and took and took, but didn't give back.

_We were so close_, she thought, feeling panic and loss rising up around her throat. _No. No no no!_

_(90)_

She almost missed his words when he spoke, because they were so quiet.

"What don't _I_ want anymore, Beckett?"

His tone was flat, and deadly. His eyes were fiery now. A distant part of her was actually glad to see the emotion back in him. Now it was him who took a step towards her, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Where exactly where we _going_?"

_(75)_

The words were bitter. Acidic. She didn't understand any of this. But he stood there, his gaze boring into her, clearly expecting an answer.

"I…"

"Yes?"

_(58)_

What was he asking? "I thought we were… we were…"

He took a step towards her. "We were _what_? What exactly is it that you think we were doing?"

There was fire in him now, suddenly awakened. Heat chased through her, and she cursed herself for the reaction. He towered over her even with the distance between them.

_(39)_

"You stopped waiting!" she cried, immediately shocked at herself for actually saying it.

He froze for a moment, looking like a wild animal about to pounce. She instinctively took a half-step backwards.

_(28)_

When he spoke, his voice was ice, and barely louder than a whisper.

"Waiting for what?"

She didn't even try to catch the tears now.

_(21)_

"We were… we talked about this. You said you'd wait," she said, and she didn't know how to interpret the flash of light in his eyes. "We talked. On the swings. You can't tell me you don't know what I mean. You can't tell me you don't remem–"

He was in front of her in an instant, closing several feet of distance in the blink of an eye. She felt a dark thrill surge through her body, and her lips parted. His eyes were glittering like diamonds in coal.

_(1o)_

"Oh, I do, Detective," he said, his tone immediately lowering the temperature of the air by several degrees.

_(5)_

She felt it. In the moment as he inhaled before speaking again. Something building up; cycling up to full power. Like a weapon, charging to readiness. Her brow barely had time to crease.

_(4)_

His mouth opened, one corner curling into a grimace.

_(3)_

"I remember

_(2)_

every

_(1)_

second of it."

_(Zero)_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's note: I really appreciate the response to the last chapter. I'm glad the technique of mirroring the initial countdown to Beckett's accidental revelation created the sense of tension I hoped it would.**_

_**I write these stories for myself – as everyone should – but it's so affirming and encouraging to hear from a reader that some of my words resonated. Whether it's book reviews on Amazon or comments here, it matters. Everyone needs validation, particularly on the tougher days.**_

* * *

By the time she'd registered what he said, Castle had turned away, crossed to the other door leading directly out to the loft's main area, and left the bedroom.

_I remember every second of it_.

The words were familiar. Recent. In her already agitated state, her mind scrambled to recall. She moved across his bedroom to the second door that now sat open, and saw him go straight towards the loft's entranceway.

By the time she realised _she'd_ said the words herself, he was at the front door, with his jacket clutched under one arm. Alexis called over to him from the kitchen area, and he said something in response, but Beckett didn't process what it was.

He didn't turn to look at her before grabbing the door handle.

Images flashed across her mind.

The bombing case last week. The interrogation room.

_You don't get to use that excuse._

Bobby Lopez, the pickpocket. He claimed to be suffering from traumatic amnesia.

_The hell you don't remember!_

The coffee sitting cooling on her desk after she'd finished with Lopez. Castle told Esposito he had somewhere to be. That's when everything changed.

_Do you want to know trauma?_

Her whole body broke out in goosebumps.

_I was shot in the chest–_

"No." Her voice was only a whisper, not loud enough to even escape the bedroom.

–_and I remember every second of it._

The loft's front door slammed closed behind him.

Her legs felt like they were going to collapse beneath her. She swayed on her feet, grabbing the door frame for support. There was absolute silence. The same three words echoed over and over in her mind.

_Not like this._

She fumbled for her phone in her coat pocket, her thoughts fuzzy around the edges with shock, and she finally managed to place a call to him.

She flinched when the ringtone suddenly sounded from behind her in his office, punctuated with a buzz as the discarded device vibrated across the wooden surface of his desk.

* * *

Beckett hurried from the loft only a minute or two later, but he was already gone.

She'd deflected Alexis and Martha's worried enquiries, and the girl had told her that Castle had simply said not to wait up for him.

She checked The Old Haunt first, even waiting there for twenty minutes in case he was slow to arrive, but he never appeared.

She checked the Library, and Remy's, and their coffee shop. She checked the park, and the swings. She checked the Haunt a second time, drawing an odd look from the bartender on duty.

She dropped by the precinct on the pretence of retrieving something from her desk drawer, and then she called Alexis to see if he'd by any chance been in touch. He hadn't.

At last, almost two hours later, she went back to her apartment in defeat. She closed the door behind her, looked around the silent space, then sank to her knees and began to sob.

* * *

The hotel room was comfortable but generic, all warm and calm colours, and sparse, tasteful decor. It was barely fifteen minutes' drive from the loft, but that didn't matter. He wouldn't be going back there tonight.

Castle sat on the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed, his blazer and jacket draped on a chair nearby, and his shoes abandoned not far inside the door. A picked-clean room service meal tray sat outside the room door, and he'd hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outer door-handle.

Now she knew that he'd heard her. She knew that her secret was out. He hadn't even waited to see her reaction before he left.

He hadn't planned to tell her at all, but she'd pushed. Came into his bedroom and asked what she'd done. She said they'd been getting somewhere.

_You stopped waiting!_

He flinched at the memory of her face when she said it. Dark eyes, wide and liquid and accusing.

And she was right, he supposed. He'd stopped waiting – but only as a side-effect. What he was really doing was protecting himself.

Her next words swam up from his memory unbidden.

_You said you'd wait. We talked. On the swings. You can't tell me you don't know what I mean._

He frowned. He remembered that day vividly. She'd talked about not being able to have the kind of relationship she wanted until the wall came down. He'd analysed her words endlessly ever since.

They were so carefully vague. She'd been talking about Josh, and then her mother's death, and then the wall. There was no mention of who the hypothetical relationship would be with; no reason to think she was talking about anything but the abstract.

But her words tonight didn't quite fit that narrative, did they?

_You said you'd wait._

He hadn't actually said that, really. Not in so many words. But she'd correctly inferred it anyway.

He sighed. Always subtext, implication and inference, and plausible deniability. It was exhausting at the best of times, and this was by no means the best of times.

Tonight had been different.

Then a vivid image flashed into his mind, making his heart lurch. She'd been telling him that she thought they'd been getting somewhere, and he'd scoffed or something, and then she'd paled.

_But you… you don't want… that. Anymore._

And then the tears he'd seen rolling down her cheeks.

The silence of the hotel room whined in his ears. He struggled to make the narrative fit.

_So maybe… maybe she…_

But it didn't matter, when you got right down to it. It was more subtext and supposition, and things had changed now.

Four years was a long time. It was one thing to be waiting for her, but quite another to know she'd been lying to him – repeatedly – for months on end.

_She had a pretty bad scare tonight_, he thought. _She realised what she'd… lost._

And that's probably all it was. Well, she'd underestimated him – the work was more important than that. No matter what else had happened, they made a great team, and he wasn't going to walk away from that.

He wasn't ready to face her again yet. It was her own obvious distress that made it most dangerous. He was still too vulnerable with her; he'd be too quick to reach out, and to forgive. But in a day or two, when things had calmed down… maybe then he could get things back on track.

He imagined returning to the precinct. Would she push to talk about all this, or would she sweep it under the carpet, as usual? He hoped it would be the latter.

"Because I'm done with the doubts and the guessing," he murmured. "Done with the hope."

He would have to return to the loft tomorrow and check in with Alexis, and no doubt there would be questions, but he'd deal with that when it came.

For now, the anger that had made such a welcome reappearance was fading, and the numbness was creeping in again.

It was time to sleep.

* * *

Beckett hadn't seen or heard from him since the confrontation on Tuesday night. It was now Friday morning, and the panic had become a low-level, constant thing.

Every time the elevator pinged and the doors slid open, she'd tense and look up, hoping to see him. She knew that Ryan and Esposito had noticed, but thankfully they were avoiding the subject as much as she was. As far as they were concerned, Castle was catching up on his writing.

She had tried texting and calling him on Wednesday morning, but with no response. Then she texted Alexis, and the girl had taken a couple of hours to reply, saying that he'd come home around 11AM, and gone straight to work in his office. She just said that it'd be best to give him some time, without elaborating.

Beckett had reluctantly complied, sending him one last text message: _**When you're ready, please talk to me.**_ That was two days ago.

She'd seen Dr. Burke on Wednesday afternoon, with an emergency appointment. The man had listened quietly as she explained everything that had happened, but his only advice was that Castle's daughter was right: he should be allowed the time he needed to come to terms with the way that his vision of her had changed.

The words had chilled her, because she knew they were so accurate. An image he'd held, and idolised, now shattered.

Burke also pointed out that whatever Castle's feelings were, his reaction was valid. He'd told her the same thing about her own response to everything that had happened last Summer.

_Time_, she thought. _Give him some time._

A couple of days? A week?

_Three months? Four years?_

She took a deep breath to push the panic away again, for another few minutes at least.

He needed time; she knew that. It had only been a week since she'd unwittingly revealed her secret to him. He needed some time to process whatever he was feeling.

She'd gone over it again and again, trying to work out what he must be thinking now. There would be a sense of betrayal, certainly, at the repeated lies. Hurt, too, at her brushing away and ignoring his declaration. Then anger at how she'd kept him hanging on for all these months, never bringing the subject up.

_As if I was embarrassed_.

The thought came from nowwhere, and it shot through her like an electric current, making her visibly flinch at her desk. His repeated questions on Tuesday night took on a different light now.

_What don't I want anymore, Beckett?_

_Where exactly were we going?_

_Waiting for what?_

"That's what he thinks," she whispered. That she was embarrassed by his words – those beautiful words that she'd clung to every day in her father's cabin, when the pain wouldn't stop and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to recover.

He couldn't be more wrong.

The elevator pinged again. She already hated the agonisingly cheerful, normal sound. She reached for her coffee cup, surreptitiously swiping at the corner of her eye at the same time. The cup was empty.

She took a wavering breath, and she genuinely thought she might have to escape to the ladies' room to avoid breaking down in the middle of the bullpen, but then she heard the familiar tone of expensive leather loafers striking the linoleum flooring of the hallway leading away from the elevator.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat, and she set the cup down with unsteady hands before looking up.

Castle nodded briefly towards Ryan and Esposito, who were looking at him with identical wary expressions, before walking over towards her desk. He stopped beside the guest chair, his eyes flicking down to the open case file that sat on top of her computer keyboard.

"Hey," he said.

His voice was neutral, and she couldn't see any anger in his expression. His posture was relaxed, with one hand stuffed casually into his trouser pocket. But there was no smile – not that she was expecting one. It took her a few moments to respond.

"Castle," she said, and it came out as a single breath.

He glanced up at her, but there was no question on his face. No accusation. No raised eyebrow. He simply waited for her to gather herself.

"Hi," she said at last. "I… didn't know if… you'd be coming in today."

He tilted his head to the side slightly, but she wasn't sure what the gesture meant.

"Got a case?" he asked, his eyes again going to the file on her desk, but her own gaze remained fixed on him.

"Oh, it's… no. We closed it yesterday. It's just paperwork."

He nodded, looking around for a moment before noticing the empty cup near her keyboard.

"I guess you'll need some more coffee," he said, then he reached down and picked the cup up from the desk. Her pulse accelerated, but he didn't make eye contact during the whole movement.

He turned to head towards the break room, and she abruptly pushed herself up out of her chair, reaching out to grasp his forearm.

"Castle, can we… I mean, …" she began, then he took a discreet quarter-step backwards, breaking the contact.

"Let's focus on the work," he said quietly. His voice was calm and firm, and he looked her in the eye as he said it.

_Oh_, she thought, and she frowned and gave a half-nod, suddenly flustered.

"I… sure, but… I mean, I'd really like to talk, later. We should–"

He sighed, and whatever else she was going to say vanished from her mind. He looked weary again, then he schooled his expression once more.

He looked down at the empty cup in his hands, peering into it as if there were answers to be divined in its depths. After a couple of seconds, he looked up at her.

"Let's… just focus on the work," he said, then he turned and walked away.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's note: Finished a brief additional scene this evening, so here you go.**_

* * *

Castle walked back into the bullpen carrying a large paper sack with lunch for himself, Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito. The three detectives were pushing ahead with case paperwork to get everything filed before 3PM, per Gates' orders, so he'd volunteered to go out and bring lunch back for them.

Beckett glanced up as he came into view, giving him the same wide-eyed, worried look he'd already seen a dozen times that morning. He broke eye contact immediately, detouring towards Ryan and Esposito first.

_Be her partner first, and her friend second_, he reminded himself. He had made it his mantra.

For now, just being her partner was enough of an effort. He truly wanted their friendship to survive – it was the second most important relationship in his life, after his bond with Alexis – and he knew it was going to take some work. In time, though, they'd get back onto an even footing. Somehow.

At some point in the future, he might even be able to look at her without seeing the light glinting subtly across the chocolate and caramel curls framing her face, or the elegant line of her alabaster neck. The unbearably enticing fullness of her lower lip. The hypnotic depth of her hazel eyes. The sinuous, opposing curves of her waist and hips.

The scent of her hair. The all-too-brief taste of her kiss.

How she'd look in a flowing white dress.

_Stop it_, he thought, wincing at his own foolish mind. It was his curse as a writer. All too easy to see things in his mind, even when they weren't there. Even when they'd never been there.

_Stop making up stories_, he thought.

Easier said than done.

He handed Ryan and Esposito their lunches, gave them a tight-lipped smile, then walked back across to Beckett's desk and sat down in the guest chair. She was watching him as he set the paper sack down on the edge of the desk.

"Break room?" she asked, and he nodded after a moment. He glanced over towards the other two detectives, but Ryan was on hold on the phone and Esposito was starting at a document on his computer screen, both already eating.

The break room was empty, which wasn't ideal. He allowed her to enter first, and he carefully left the door fully open before heading over towards the coffee machine.

Beckett watched him as he busied himself with the machine, with his head down and his back to her.

_You stupid man_, she thought. _You stupid, wonderful, infuriating man._

Despite his newfound studied nonchalance and distance, she could see that he was hurting.

This wasn't him, but she knew that the real Castle – the man-child, the joyful father, the adventurer in life, the storyteller – was still in there. Locked behind this barrier he'd put up. Behind–

_A wall._

The difference was that her wall had been built on tragedy, and systematically dismantled by love – his love for her. Now he had a wall of his own, and she was the one who put it there.

Her own barrier was gone, but she'd engineered another without allowing herself to acknowledge it. A time-bomb waiting to go off for months, knowing that the resulting rubble would be piled high.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes, and she heard Dr. Burke's voice in her mind.

_This isn't just about you anymore, Kate._

Now it was Castle's turn to be the wounded one; the one with a gaping hole to mend. Now he was the one with a bleak image of the future, filled with a long, slow rehabilitation as he made himself fall out of love with her. He was the one who needed time to forget the idea of her he'd built in his mind, and no doubt clung to for the long months she'd removed herself from him, and even since she'd come back.

He had almost finished making the two coffees now, and still she was staring at him. She considered getting up and closing the door, but she knew what his response would be.

_Let's focus on the work_.

That's what he'd said, and if she was honest with herself, she knew that he didn't just mean today. He meant _from now on_. Again the panic rose up. Again she simply breathed through it, and reminded herself that he was feeling even worse.

She was terrified that she would lose him.

He was convinced that he'd already lost her.

Castle turned away from the counter and carried the two cups of coffee over to the table, placing hers in front of her before going around to sit in a chair on the opposite site, diagonally across from her.

Still she watched him, as he avoided eye contact, and with a flash of insight she knew that he couldn't bear to look at her because when he did, he couldn't help but see the woman he'd made her out to be.

The muse. The inspiration. The real Nikki Heat. The woman he'd said those three beautiful words to, on the darkest day under a bright sky.

The woman who loved him too.

But she knew that he'd already decided that wasn't true; that it couldn't be true. He'd spun out a new, alternate version of events, that tore down what they were building together. And it was her fault. She'd never given him real hope; just crumbs, and allusions, and plausible deniability. So he filled in the blanks, and lived with the doubts, and then it inevitably all came crashing down when he discovered her lie.

And now, maybe it was too late.

Now it was her mother's voice that echoed in her mind, the words familiar from so many evenings as a girl when she would ask what case her mother was working on, and why she pursued these things even though it had all already happened. The deeds had been done, and it was too late to help the victims.

Johanna Beckett would run a soothing hand through her daughter's hair, and look at her with patience and compassion, but also with a hint of fire in her eyes.

_It's never too late for the truth, Katie._

Castle had pulled his own sandwich towards him, and was unwrapping it without much enthusiasm.

She suddenly reached out and put her hand on top of his, startling him. He froze for a moment, then looked up at her blankly.

She looked into his eyes, and let the tension flow out of her.

"Stop making up stories," she said.


	14. Chapter 14

Castle stared at her, forgetting all about the fact that they were in the break room and her hand was on top of his. There were goosebumps all along his arms.

_Stop making up stories_.

His own thought from a few minutes ago, and now she'd said it aloud. He looked at her warily, unsure what to think.

"I think Gina would have something to say about that," he said, but his tone was uncertain, not reflecting the potential humour of the remark. He gently pulled his arm back until she lifted her hand away from his.

Beckett sighed, then opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke over her, dipping his head slightly and talking in a low voice.

"I _don't_ want to talk about this, Ka– … Beckett," he said, with a warning in his tone. "I get it. I understand. And I'm fine."

_Damn it, Rick, no you're not_, she thought. _And you don't get it at all._

Again she tried to speak, but he held up his hand for a moment to silence her before he continued.

"We're partners, and we do damned good work. Important work. And you're my friend." He paused, and another flash of pain passed across his face. "Actually, you're… my best friend."

Her heart thudded in her chest. It was wonderful and painful at the same time.

_How did everything get so–_

"This is all messed up," he said, looking down at his own hands, then back up at her. "But I can't lose… this. The work, and our friendship."

She blinked away the moisture in her eyes. _Friendship._

"I'm _trying_ to stop making up stories – believe me. It's going to take a while. I'm not going to hide, but you've got to… you've got to give me exactly what I gave you. You asked me for time, and I _always_ gave it."

He's looking at her now – really looking. His eyes are open and unshuttered. There's so much confusion there, and despair, and she knows that he truly can't understand why he's found himself in this position.

"But you've got it _wrong_," she said, beginning to reach towards him again, and he immediately shook his head, sitting back a little but keeping his voice quiet.

"I _said_ I don't want to talk about it," he replied, his voice once again laced with warning. "If I'd… if I hadn't heard you, nothing would have changed. We'd be sitting here right now just like we always have."

She swallowed, and didn't say anything. He was right. The worst part was that he was right.

_Coward_, she thought. _I'm such a coward._

He watched her for a moment, and then nodded, mostly to himself.

"So _don't_ tell me I got it wrong," he said at last. "You don't get to just… wave a magic wand. Put yourself in my shoes, and ask yourself what _you'd_ do."

He gave her one last look, then he reached for his coffee and took a large gulp of it, before returning his attention to his lunch.

* * *

The paperwork was finished ahead of schedule, and besides a few administrative loose ends there was little else to do, so Gates had told them they could all leave a early if nothing else came up before 4PM.

Ryan and Esposito were happily marking time at their own desks, deep in a lively conversation about whether or not cops should have catchphrases, and what they should be.

Beckett was half-listening while she was organising her desk, but mostly she was sneaking the occasional glance at the man sitting a few feet to her left.

Castle was ostensibly playing with his phone, but she knew that he was tuned into the banter further down the bullpen. His lips occasionally curled into a smile, and she knew that he was itching to get involved in the debate.

"So what would yours be?" she asked quietly, watching out of the corner of her eye as he suddenly looked up.

"Hmm?"

"Your catchphrase," she replied, glancing over at him briefly before opening another drawer.

"Huh," he said, his face becoming thoughtful. There was a moment of silence before he continued. "I dunno. Everything I come up with is from an action movie. I'd have to think about it. And, I'm not a cop."

She closed the drawer and turned to look at him, exasperated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He blinked. "Just that… I'm not actually a cop."

"So you don't get a catchphrase?" she asked, folding her arms.

Castle frowned, confused. "Uh… I guess… it's just hypothetical."

They looked at each other for several seconds, then he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So, what about you?" he asked. "What would your catchphrase be? It'd be something kick-ass, I bet."

She looked down at the surface of her desk for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

"I wouldn't have one," she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly about to object, but she spoke first.

"I can never find the right words when it really matters."

She held his gaze until he finally looked back down at his phone, and she saw the fine creases appear on his brow.

* * *

4PM finally rolled around, and Ryan and Esposito were quick to spring up from their desks, grab their coats, and stride over to where Beckett and Castle sat in silence.

"We're calling it a night, boss," Esposito said, also nodding at Castle. Beckett looked up at the two detectives, and gave them a tight-lipped smile.

"OK. Good work today. Enjoy the weekend," she said.

They said their farewells, and less than half a minute later they were gone.

"You about done too?" Castle asked, and she nodded, then locked her computer and stood up.

He considered picking up her coat and helping her into it, but it was too… what? Soon? Late? Something. Instead, he just straightened his blazer, not seeing the way she looked towards him with large eyes for just a moment.

She pulled her coat on and fastened it, then picked up her purse and looked over at him.

He was staring into the middle distance, lost in thought, and it took him a moment to realise that she was observing him.

"Sorry," he said, gesturing with one hand towards the hallway that led to the elevator. "After you."

A minute or so later, the elevator doors slid closed, and they began to descend.

"Any plans for the weekend?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Writing. The usual."

"Mm."

"You?" He glanced over at her, his gaze barely bouncing off her face before he once again faced the front of the elevator.

"Not much."

"Mm."

_Ask him if he wants to do something_, her mind whispered, but she knew what his answer would be. _I get it. I need time. Let's just focus on the work_.

There was a ping as they arrived at the ground level, and as usual he waited, letting her go ahead of him. They reached the street all too quickly for her liking, but her resolve had temporarily deserted her. She belatedly realised that he was looking her, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well, see you on Monday," he said at last, then he gave her a small but earnest smile before he turned and walked away.

_Such a coward_, she thought.

She watched him until he got into a taxi, then she sighed and set off towards her car.

* * *

Beckett sat on the edge of her couch, staring at the blank TV screen without seeing it. She'd finished a meagre dinner almost an hour before, but the dishes still sat off to one side on the coffee table. She hadn't moved from her position since.

Her phone was on the couch next to her, but there had been no messages. Three times now she'd picked the device up with the full intention of calling him, but she always put it back down again before doing it. He'd just shut her down, gently but firmly.

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to think what to do next. He wouldn't listen. He had his own version of events, and the real problem was what he'd said in the precinct earlier: if he hadn't accidentally overheard her, they probably would still be in the same place. _Something_ was changing between them lately, but those words sounded empty now.

He had no context, and that was no surprise – she'd kept it all from him. Only her veiled reference on the swings, so many months ago. No wonder his vision of her was so fragile in the end, that one huge lie shattered it into a thousand pieces.

He was at home right now, she guessed, having a normal evening with his daughter, and maybe Martha too if she wasn't out on the town. He was winding down for a quiet weekend away from her, without contact, because he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to even hear her try to explain. He wouldn't let her get the first word out before shutting her down with his reminder that he'd always given her time when she'd asked for it.

So he'd spend his days being her partner and her friend, and his evenings and weekends with the one version of her that was still intact; the one called Nikki.

She looked across at her bookshelf, easily spotting the distinctive red and black cover of _Heat Wave_. The spine included the front cover art in miniature, and she could just make out the silhouette of the feisty female detective he'd created as a tribute. Her avatar in the world of his imagination.

But the Nikki Heat books were more than that, weren't they? Not just a tribute. Not just a re-imagining of her, and the job she did. In a way, they were addressed to her, too. She'd come to realise that over the last year or so.

More subtext and implication, this time tens of thousands of words long. Because in a way, they were a message. They were about what he saw when he looked at her. What he knew she could be. What he wanted _her_ to see when she looked in the mirror.

And then there was Jameson Rook, Castle's own avatar, and just as loyal. Determined. Constant. Her shadow. He was a message too.

_They're… love letters_, she thought, her pulse thumping in her chest.

Of course they were. From all the times she hadn't let _him_ speak. They were inevitable. They were… what he did. They were the only thing he _could_ do.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes. How incredibly short-sighted she'd been when she'd wondered if he'd only said those words because she lay dying in his arms.

He hadn't just told her he loved her twice, in quick succession, that day on the grass under the blue sky; he'd told her _thousands_ of times.

Every description of Nikki's hair, her eyes, her lips. How she moved, with grace and elegance, and purpose. How she faced danger fearlessly, and fought for justice. How there was darkness within her that didn't _define_ her. How she was admired, and respected, and desired.

All of it.

This is the woman I know, the books said. This is _you_.

"Oh god," she whispered, the tears spilling out over her lashes.

_He did the only–_

Goosebumps broke out all along her arms.

–_thing he could do_.

She froze.

* * *

Castle frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall of his office when he heard the familiar knock on the front door.

It was after 10PM, and Alexis had decided to get an early night after a particularly exhausting day. She had kissed him on the cheek and went upstairs about half an hour before, and he'd gone through to his office to gather his thoughts. His mother wasn't expected back until morning, which was entirely normal for a Friday night.

He sighed, pushing himself up out of his chair and walking through to the entryway. He composed himself, then opened the door, and he wasn't surprised to see Beckett standing there.

"Do I need to get my coat?" he said wearily, and she shook her head.

He looked at her for a moment, then stepped to one side to allow her to enter. He was puzzled when she once again shook her head.

"You said you didn't want to talk," she said, looking up at him with those large, dark, liquid eyes, and he belatedly realised that she wasn't wearing heels.

He took a breath, keeping his voice even. "I don't."

"OK," she replied.

He was about to tell her that he was too tired for riddles, when she withdrew her hand from one of her coat's deep pockets, and handed something to him. He accepted it automatically, his eyes snapping up to meet hers when she then placed her now empty palm against his chest.

He expected her to say something, but she didn't. She just looked at him for a long moment, then she lifted her hand away, turned, and walked back into the elevator.

He stood motionless for several seconds, frowning, then he slowly pushed the door closed. The loft was silent, and he could hear his own heartbeat.

When his pulse had slowed back down, he raised his hand. In it, he held a sealed white envelope.

Written across the front, in handwriting he'd recognise anywhere, there was a single word.

_Rick._


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's note: A brief update, because I really wanted to know what Beckett said in her letter. **_

_**How she would try to explain it all – the lie, the long silence, and her reaction to his confession. I honestly have no idea how this will turn out; I have no notes, nor any plan whatsoever. This short chapter will be written straight through in a single session, then published. I'll read it around the same time as you do.**_

_**Then I'll be away for a couple of weeks, travelling in Europe – but not before my age yet again increases by one, less than twenty-six hours from now.**_

_**Be well, until next we speak, and thank you for reading.**_

* * *

Castle went into his office and closed the door, even though the only other person in the loft was Alexis, and she was already asleep.

He poured himself a glass of whisky, sat down at his desk, and opened the envelope. It contained a few sheets of pale blue letter paper, covered in Beckett's distinctive, slightly spiky cursive handwriting. The pages smelled ever so slightly – agonisingly, maddeningly – of cherries.

He took a deep breath, and began to read.

* * *

_Dear Rick,_

_You don't want to talk, and I understand why. I'm writing to you instead, because that's what you did. You wrote about Nikki when I wasn't ready to listen._

_I'm so sorry._

_You have to believe me when I say that I was going to tell you, soon. We were almost there, weren't we? Now I don't know where we are, and it's my fault._

_I remember everything from the day I was shot. I never forgot. I remember what you told me. I've thought about your words every day since then._

_I'm no good at this, but I'm trying. Words are your thing. Your words have saved me so many times. When my mother was killed, and so many times afterwards when I couldn't find my way back. Then again, after I was shot. Did you know that I read all the Storm books again over those three months? They kept me sane. They kept you close by._

_You're wondering why I lied to you, more than once. I've asked myself that question a lot. I've even talked it over with my therapist – I see him every week, ever since I came back, and lately we mostly talk about you – and I've realised there's more than one reason._

_First, I couldn't handle it at the time. Roy was dead. I felt responsible. We were facing a dead end. I was with Josh. Then I was shot, Rick. When I woke up in the hospital, I wasn't me. I wasn't even sure I was alive. I was __so broken__._

_Later, when I was sent home to start healing, I hid myself away from you. Every single day I wanted to call you. I woke up with your name on my lips. You were in all my dreams – the nightmares too. And every day I fought myself, and somehow managed not to contact you, because I would have broken __us__. You have to understand that._

_I would have asked you to come, even though I wasn't even a shadow of myself, and you'd have been there the same day. I know you would have. You always come when I call. And then I would have dragged you down with me. I know you would have tried, and been patient, and given me everything you knew how to give, but I would have destroyed us. I was so angry, with everyone and everything. I wasn't thinking straight, at all. Most days I wasn't even thinking._

_I wanted you to be there, but I knew I wasn't strong enough to walk this line we always have. I'd have let you get close, and it would have been wrong. It would have been damaged, and out of balance, and I would have taken everything and not given anything in return (like I always do, right?) and we wouldn't have survived it._

_We would have lost our __always__, because I wasn't me anymore. I needed to be me again. Can you understand?_

_Then when I came back and finally felt strong enough to see you again, I was afraid. Afraid you'd moved on. After you'd be angry. Afraid you only said it because I was dying. Most of all, afraid that whatever you saw in me before had been bled out, and wasn't there anymore._

_And you __were__ angry. I think about you walking away from me outside the bookstore a lot, too. I'd had nightmares about that kind of thing happening, and then it did. Like you saw me differently after what happened. It just seemed so much easier to keep pretending I didn't remember, so I could wait and see if you were still you, and I was still me, and we were still us. But I __was__ going to tell you. I think I was going to tell you in the couple of weeks, even._

_I know what you must be thinking now, but you're wrong. I can hear your thoughts right now._

_You're thinking I turned to Josh instead of you (I broke up with him the day after you came to the hospital)._

_You're thinking I was embarrassed by what you said (No words have ever meant more to me, and some days I want to hear them again so badly that I feel like I can't breathe)._

_You're thinking I was trying to find a way to let you down gently (I was trying to find a way for you to lift me up)._

_You're making up stories, but now they're wrong. Like that I __didn't__ think about you every day. Or that I __didn't__ hear what you said, over and over in my head, and want you to say it when I was me again. Or that I __didn't__ mean you when we talked on the swings that day._

_You make such beautiful stories. Please don't tell me I took that away from you._

_I'm not good with words. You're the one who's meant to do this part – the understanding, and making sense, and reaching out. I'm trying, but I don't know if it's done any good. I wish I'd talked to you sooner. I wish I'd told you before you found out. I wish things had been different. But wishing doesn't help._

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

_You always gave me time, and now it's my turn to do the same. I've used nearly all the words I can find, and I only have three left for you._

_When you're ready – and please let it be when, not if, because you are the one thing in my life I __can't__ lose __– come and see me, and I'll say them._

_Yours,_

_Kate_


End file.
